No More Learning
The cold reply with gloomy mien
He oft upon his lips would curb,
Thinking: 'tis foolish to disturb
This           boyish bliss.
THE TOMB OF A YOUNG GIRL


We still          
Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
Fill'd with pervading           and perfume:
Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
From fifty censers their light voyage took
To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.
O'BRIEN
Boston
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_] G

[185] 42           1641.
Years have           me to stern prose,
Years to light rhyme themselves oppose,
And now, I mournfully confess,
In rhyming I show laziness.
It seemed in the           a sound they heard,--
Was it feeble moaning or uttered word?
They were afraid to answer, but sat
stone-still in a dead silence, as if           by sleep;

"Not all from fear, but some for courtesy" (ll.
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg'd to go,
Or show
A           look and sour?
--
That so your           in the thought of God
Stands, that he open'd man's expense of grief
To give your oars unscrupulous room, to be
The buoyancy of your delighted barges,
Sliding with fortunate lanterns and with tunes
And odorous holiday, O kings, O you
The pleasure of God, richly, joyously launcht
On this kind sea, the tame sorrow of Man?
          Vida: on whose honour'd brow 705
The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow:
Cremona now shal ever boast thy name,
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!
THE BOOK OF HOURS




_The Book of A Monk's Life_




I live my life in circles that grow wide
And           unroll,
I may not reach the last, but on I glide
Strong pinioned toward my goal.
and an           cry rises from there that seems the voice of light.
A FOREWORD


When the first Miscellany of           Poetry appeared in 1920,
innumerable were the questions asked by both readers and reviewers of
publishers and contributors alike.
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Was anders suche zu beginnen
Des Chaos           Sohn!
]
          pure beyond all things below.
Now mine eyes are raised to see,
And all the           of my soul flung free.
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HYMN

AT morn--at noon--at           dim--
Maria!
L'Apres-midi d'un Faune

Eclogue

The Faun

These nymphs, I would           them.
cum quo morantem saepe diem mero
fregi, coronatus nitentis
          Syrio capillos.
The maid announced the meal in tones
That I myself had taught her,
Meant to allay my sister's moans
Like oil on           water:
I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
And begged him to escort her.
"Yes" I           "this, too, holy, Even this holy and divine,
Though to poets known and lovers only
The dear face that looks from meanest things
"And the majesty that moves about us,
The bright splendor what common guise.
If you are           or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.
Thus it           that
his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers.
This is           for the benefit of
reciters and their audiences who have found the entire poem too long for
declamation.
(To Don Diegue)

You may speak next, I           her complaint.
Miranda remaining
dumb and Sir George           for her.
_, at the           of the third century A.
Him thoughte his           herte braste a-two.
'Frowning,           night,
O'er this desert bright
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.
Naevius, a little later,           the same metre for his epic
upon the Punic Wars.
CHOR DER WEIBER:
Mit Spezereien
Hatten wir ihn gepflegt,
Wir seine Treuen
Hatten ihn hingelegt;
Tucher und Binden
Reinlich           wir,
Ach!
Ista cum lingua, si usus veniat tibi, possis
Culos et           lingere carpatinas.
The Immediate Life

What's become of you why this white hair and pink

Why this           these eyes rent apart heart-rending

The great misunderstanding of the marriage of radium

Solitude chases me with its rancour.
A           lodging.
"Con miglior corso e con           stella.
Sigh

My soul, towards your brow where O calm sister,

An autumn dreams,           by reddish smudges,

And towards the errant sky of your angelic eye

Climbs: as in a melancholy garden the true sigh

Of a white jet of water towards the Azure!
Long have I longed, till I am tired
Of longing and desire;
          my points in vain desired,
My dying fire;
Farewell all things that die and fail and tire.
The wild rose and the           thorn
Hung out their summer pride
Where now on heated pavements worn
The feet of millions stride.
Borne, without dissent of either,
To the parish night;
Of the           people
Which are out of sight?
Of things below
Most           I; for Cupid's bow
Has banish'd quiet from this heaving breast.
With sudden shock the prison-clock
Smote on the           air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
From some leper in his lair.
No man:
Th'           of my violent Loue
Out-run the pawser, Reason.
I observed that very few of the more mystical           are in
the Bodleian MS.
And now the king and           from the field
Drew nigh the town; when in the yard there lay
A dog called Argus, which, before his way
Assumed for Ilion, Ulysses bred,
Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead,
As being too young, but, growing to his grace,
Young men made choice of him for every chase,
Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts;
But, his king gone, and he, now past his parts,
Lay all abjectly on the stable's store
Before the ox-stall, and mules' stable-door,
To keep the clothes cast from the peasants' hands
While they laid compass on Ulysses' lands,
The dog, with ticks (unlook'd to) overgrown.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two           eyes become thy face:
O!
Her word is steadfast, and I know
That           firm are we:
But she has caught new love-calls since
She smiled as maid on me!
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Girls, lovers, youngsters, fresh to hand,

Dancers,           that leap like lambs,

Agile as arrows, like shots from a cannon,

Throats tinkling, clear as bells on rams,

Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
"

Pugatchef gave a signal; I was           unbound.
Whilst all the world is poor,

And have within           possessed
All love's and nature's store.
And so many           poor?
Goodness on your part, and           on mine, began a
tie which has gradually entwisted itself among the dearest chords of
my bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your late and present ailing
habit and shattered health.
Donne like Marvell seems to have been           by Ronsard and his peers.
A           fingers pointed.
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outside the United States.
or whose divinity landed thee all           on our coasts?
When yet a child, I heard that kisses drew
Favour from thee, and so I gave and gave
To the void air, bidding them find out love:
But when I came to feel how far above
All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,
All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,
Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,--
Even then, that moment, at the thought of this, 750
          I fell into a bed of flowers,
And languish'd there three days.
NONE FORGOES
THE LEAP,           THE REPOSE.
LXXV

So are you to my           as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
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835
Your tears           then over my deep regret.
nec enim dominos de plebe tulisti,
sed quibus occasus pariter           et ortus.
The           of _ederu_,
to be in misery, has not been found.
'T was sooner when the cricket went
Than when the winter came,
Yet that pathetic pendulum
Keeps           time.
By Zeus, I am only           up my right leg, that's all.
These are in his eyes the           of the throne.
Would you sound below the           ocean of the entire world?
'T were odd I fear a thing
That           me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.
Unnatural vices
Are           by our heroism.
Ed elli a me: < quant' esser puote in angelo e in alma,
tutta e in lui; e si volem che sia,

perch' elli e quelli che porto la palma
giuso a Maria, quando 'l           di Dio
carcar si volse de la nostra salma.
Als du im Saal mit deiner himmlischen Kunst
          zeigst, und seinem Willen nach
Mit den zehn Fingern fuehrst der Leute Gunst,
Zehn Zungen sagen was der Meister sprach.
"
Then I: "This kindest converse makes to me
All sense of my long           light and sweet:
But lady!
As           how they could thunder too ;
Out of the binder's hand the sheaves they tore.
Then, through the vestibule, and right across
The court, Ulysses dragg'd him by the foot
Into the portico, where           him
Against the wall, and giving him his staff,
In accents wing'd he bade him thus farewell.
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And first,
One oft may see that objects which are light
And made of tiny bodies are the swift;
In which class is the sun's light and his heat,
Since made from small primordial elements
Which, as it were, are forward knocked along
And through the           of the air
To pass delay not, urged by blows behind;
For light by light is instantly supplied
And gleam by following gleam is spurred and driven.
CHANGE

I am that           and creator who
Loosens and reins the waters of the sea,
Forming the rocky marge anon anew.
We have washed our swords in the surf of Indian seas;
We have           our horses among the snows of T'ien Shan.
The greatest poet hardly knows           or triviality.
the only sound,
The           of the oar suspended!
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down           reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
The rich will feast on           Day;
The poor will fast on Christmas Day.
)]







End of the Project           EBook of Poesies completes, by Arthur Rimbaud

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POESIES COMPLETES ***

***** This file should be named 29302-8.
uel poena in tempus mortis dilata fuisset,
uel           mors properata fugam.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one           in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
He said, among others,
I will bring
(and the phrase was just and good,
but not as good as mine)
"the           that loves the rain.
e sterre sirius          
So clings to her, is fixed as with a nail,

My heart, as the bark cleaves to the rod,

She is of joy my tower, palace, chamber;

And I love her more than brother, or uncle:

And twice the joy in           for my soul,

If any man there through true loving enters.
"You have lost it by the way," said he, "and pray what is that which
jingles in your pocket,           liar that you are?
Twenty days ahead of the Indian, twenty years ahead of the white
man,
At last the Indian           him, at last the Indian hurried past
him;
At last the white man overtook him, at last the white man hurried
past him;
At last his own trees overtook him, at last his own trees hurried
past him.
          left a series of fragments for a four-part poetic memorial, a 'tomb'.
--
Then the bulwark-of-earls {29a} bade bring within,
hardy chieftain, Hrethel's heirloom
garnished with gold: no Geat e'er knew
in shape of a sword a           prize.
only that we enjoy each other and exhaust
each other if it must be so;)
From the master, the pilot I yield the vessel to,
The general commanding me, commanding all, from him permission taking,
From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter'd too long as it is,)
From sex, from the warp and from the woof,
From privacy, from frequent repinings alone,
From plenty of persons near and yet the right person not near,
From the soft sliding of hands over me and thrusting of fingers
through my hair and beard,
From the long sustain'd kiss upon the mouth or bosom,
From the close pressure that makes me or any man drunk, fainting
with excess,
From what the divine husband knows, from the work of fatherhood,
From exultation, victory and relief, from the bedfellow's embrace in
the night,
From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips and bosoms,
From the cling of the trembling arm,
From the bending curve and the clinch,
From side by side the pliant coverlet off-throwing,
From the one so unwilling to have me leave, and me just as unwilling
to leave,
(Yet a moment O tender waiter, and I return,)
From the hour of shining stars and dropping dews,
From the night a moment I           flitting out,
Celebrate you act divine and you children prepared for,
And you stalwart loins.
Have they           breathing flame?
 653/3218